SH - Socks
Prompt: Socks
Category: Sherlock
Gift for: gravitybeams
It was certainly well known that Sherlock was odd- this was a fact that John never doubted; not for one second. From the initial moment in which he first came into contact with the man he'd known that there was something off with the picture. For example, not only was he brilliant, but he got his jollies on by approaching situations head-on that would have your average Joe running for the hills in his soaked knickers. All the while, there would be some pensive look on his face until something interesting (terrifying) was revealed, which prompted a childish, Christmas-like grin that overtook his features much like some sick disease would. It was slightly disturbing.
John soon found that shopping for the birthday present of such a man was equally terrifying. There was a chance Sherlock would simply glance over the wrapping paper and somehow discover that he and Sarah were spending some time apart. John could only imagine.
“This wrapping paper-”
“Yes?”
He would then turn the gift about his fingers, observing the way the tissue was folded clumsily around the curves. “You and Sarah fell out, I take it?”
“How do you figure that?”
“It looks like it was hit by a truck.”
Although it was an incredibly simplified version of events, it was probably incredibly accurate. Sometimes the retired soldier wanted nothing more than to strangle the twenty-something irritation- which was why he'd spent a grand total of five pounds on a bag of old socks for the man's birthday. There were about thirty odd pairs stuffed mercilessly into the package, and not a single one of them matched.
Some of them actually had polka-dots.
It wasn't as if he could afford anything better, anyways.
The apartment was empty. At some point during the day Mycroft had popped by to say hello, but other than that the rooms held a certain level of static that seemed to whisper to John that Sherlock was bored and that if he didn't do something to occupy the man's mind soon something horrible would happen. Like a trip to the morgue.
John did not like those. Not one bit.
And so, naturally, he decided to hand the man his present.
Sherlock looked it over, but did not comment on the way that the gift did, in fact, look like it had been hit by a truck. Nor did he speak his mind on the tissue-print. (Little yellow duckies, for those who wish to know.) Instead, he simply opened the package with a content look on his face, slightly smug. Once he fully unwrapped the gift, he stared.
John waited.
“Are you high?” Truly, Sherlock had done absolutely nothing but stare at the package of socks for the last half hour. Of course the shorter man would be curious.
“No.” Clipped. To the point. Obviously not high.
“Okay, then,” John mused, looking every bit the put-out gentleman that he was. “Just... checking.”
Groggle... Had this finished sooner. Should have posted it. XD
Category: Sherlock
Gift for: gravitybeams
It was certainly well known that Sherlock was odd- this was a fact that John never doubted; not for one second. From the initial moment in which he first came into contact with the man he'd known that there was something off with the picture. For example, not only was he brilliant, but he got his jollies on by approaching situations head-on that would have your average Joe running for the hills in his soaked knickers. All the while, there would be some pensive look on his face until something interesting (terrifying) was revealed, which prompted a childish, Christmas-like grin that overtook his features much like some sick disease would. It was slightly disturbing.
John soon found that shopping for the birthday present of such a man was equally terrifying. There was a chance Sherlock would simply glance over the wrapping paper and somehow discover that he and Sarah were spending some time apart. John could only imagine.
“This wrapping paper-”
“Yes?”
He would then turn the gift about his fingers, observing the way the tissue was folded clumsily around the curves. “You and Sarah fell out, I take it?”
“How do you figure that?”
“It looks like it was hit by a truck.”
Although it was an incredibly simplified version of events, it was probably incredibly accurate. Sometimes the retired soldier wanted nothing more than to strangle the twenty-something irritation- which was why he'd spent a grand total of five pounds on a bag of old socks for the man's birthday. There were about thirty odd pairs stuffed mercilessly into the package, and not a single one of them matched.
Some of them actually had polka-dots.
It wasn't as if he could afford anything better, anyways.
The apartment was empty. At some point during the day Mycroft had popped by to say hello, but other than that the rooms held a certain level of static that seemed to whisper to John that Sherlock was bored and that if he didn't do something to occupy the man's mind soon something horrible would happen. Like a trip to the morgue.
John did not like those. Not one bit.
And so, naturally, he decided to hand the man his present.
Sherlock looked it over, but did not comment on the way that the gift did, in fact, look like it had been hit by a truck. Nor did he speak his mind on the tissue-print. (Little yellow duckies, for those who wish to know.) Instead, he simply opened the package with a content look on his face, slightly smug. Once he fully unwrapped the gift, he stared.
John waited.
“Are you high?” Truly, Sherlock had done absolutely nothing but stare at the package of socks for the last half hour. Of course the shorter man would be curious.
“No.” Clipped. To the point. Obviously not high.
“Okay, then,” John mused, looking every bit the put-out gentleman that he was. “Just... checking.”
Groggle... Had this finished sooner. Should have posted it. XD